


Fuck the Bet, and Fuck Me Instead

by Yombatable



Series: Betting Pools and Stupidity [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, engire, omg, what? I wrote Porn?, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yombatable/pseuds/Yombatable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty sequel that nobody asked for to 'Wanna bet on that?' In which we find out what happened in that room with the lock and the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck the Bet, and Fuck Me Instead

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written which is like actual porn and not dry humping. tbh, I went hella tame with it this time because of that very reason.
> 
> Whatever the case, have this thing. It's like 2am I need sleep. I had something else I wanted to write here but fuck knows what it was...
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

               The

               The two of them stumbled into the room, letting go of each other long enough to make sure the door was securely locked, before scrambling over to the appropriately named love-seat on the other side of the room.

               “This better be worth losing my reputation over,” England gasped as he was pushed onto the couch, his back hitting the cushions with a dull thud.

               “What reputation?” Ireland replied with a snort, kneeling over him with his legs either side of England’s hips. He had to admit he liked this sight, England underneath him, a flush on his cheeks and his ugly blonde hair splayed out against the uglier red of the couch. About the only way the sight could be improved would be if his lips were snugly wrapped around his dick. “Being a prissy bastard with standards too high to bother with?”

               England raised an eyebrow, “Well, I’m about to sleep with _you_ so you can hardly claim I have high standards.”

               Ireland shrugged, tugging off the tie he wasn’t even sure why he’d originally worn, “Then what reputation are you worried you’re going to damage exactly?”

               England hummed, ignoring the question and watching lazily as Ireland started on the buttons of his shirt, his eyes traveling happily down Ireland’s body. Ireland felt a sense of being evaluated, but didn’t try to hide himself, if he’d learned anything over the years it was that you can be ugly as shit and so long as you look like you’re confident then that will easily compensate for a lot of other things. Idly, England chuckled, “It’s been years since I’ve seen you naked, do you recon I’m bigger than you now?”

               Ireland growled, sitting with his full weight on England’s stomach and making the younger nation groan out a laugh, “There’s a reason we haven’t slept together before and I think I’m starting to remember what it is.”

               “Hmn?”

               “You’re a smug cunt.”

               England considered that for a moment, “Be that as it may, I’m a bloody good lay.”

               Ireland rolled his eyes, letting his shirt fall to the ground beside the couch, “Well, aren’t we full of ourself?”

               England chuckled again, reaching up to pull Ireland down flush with him, “Poppet, what did I say before? _I've been called it enough over the years, at some point you've got to start acknowledging that it might be true_."

               Ireland sent him a dry look. He better be a good lay, because holy fuck did he have a mouth on him. He wisely decided to shut him up. He leant down and caught his lips back in a kiss, “Oh just shut up and get your fucking clothes off already.” He growled through England’s lips.

               “My, aren’t we bossy?” England grinned, his hands, instead of going to his own clothes, drifting down and under Ireland’s trousers to cup his arse firmly. Ireland gasped, unwillingly allowing England to talk even more, “If you want me naked so badly then why don’t you hop to it?”

               Ireland huffed, “I fucking hate you.” But that didn’t stop him from reaching down to start on England’s buttons anyway. If he was going to have to put up with this shit then he was at least going to get off, and having England naked was the easiest way to do that.

               It wasn’t long then (after England had gotten off his arse and started helping) before the two of them had removed enough clothes to get a start on things.

               The two of them groaned in unison, pressed close together as they were. Both of them were completely hard by now, no matter how much England’s smug arrogance was a turn off, the guy knew how to work his hand. He also knew how to work his hips apparently.

               As Ireland gasped, England took the opportunity to slap is arse and mumble a quick, “Turn around, I wanna suck you off,” his voice slurring in a way reminiscent of how many drinks the two had had for the first time that night.

               Ireland hummed, “What if I wanna watch?”

               “What do you take me for?” England replied, tightening his arms around Ireland’s neck, and sucking him into a kiss which lasted a good ten seconds before continuing, “Some five penny whore?”

               Ireland just nodded, humming out a note in the affirmative, knowing it would piss England off. England was funny when he was pissed off.

               England huffed, grinding his hips upward, “I assure you my dear, a whore I may be, but my rates are much higher than that.”

               “Then how out of pocket should I expect to  be after this?” Ireland groaned, relocating his lips to suck on England’s adam’s apple.

               “Oh, incredibly poppet,” England purred, humming out a groan soon after, “But I’d suggest you’d flip us if you’re willing to pay the price.”

               Ireland didn’t hesitate to do as England said, letting England settle between his legs, “I’m too drunk to think this is a bad idea, so just get to sucking.”

               England raised an eyebrow, and Ireland couldn’t help noticing how much better England looked while sex-mussed than his usual stuffy self. He’d have to ask around and find out if England always looked this good during sex or if he was just especially good… or especially drunk.

               England leant down to kiss his jaw briefly, “Cheeky, cheeky, you’ll have to be nicer than that Paddy.”

               “Don’t call me Paddy.”

               England chuckled, “Oh? Why ever not?”

               Ireland sent him a dry look, “Only North gets to call me that, now what did I say about sucking?”

               “And what did I say about asking nicely?”

               “I’d bother if you weren’t so obviously indifferent and just trying to wind me up.”

               “But it would make me so happy.”

               Ireland rolled his eyes, pushing England down his body, “ _Please, beautiful, charming, amazing England. Suck me off._ ” He cooed sarcastically, which made England respond by taking him all the way into his mouth in one quick movement, “Oh Jesus, England! _Rabhadh a thabhairt dom ar dtús!_ ”

               England hummed out a chuckle, making delicious little vibrations around Ireland’s dick. Another positive Ireland was beginning to see was that England couldn’t talk with his mouth otherwise occupied with doing absolutely magical things. Well, he owed Spain money now, but that was fine. He could deal with that.

               Before Ireland could get too happy with his situation though, England removed his mouth with a pop, making Ireland growl. He placed a finger over Ireland’s lips, “Mutual gratification, my dear.”

               “One, I’m not your ‘dear’.”

               England smirked.

               “Two,  get the fuck up here and let me mutually gratify you then.”

               England smirked wider, crawling back up his body, kissing him again. Shit, he tasted horrible. Granted, he knew it was actually his own dick that tasted horrible, which was exactly why he didn’t recoil when he                caught the salty aftertaste on his tongue. When England pulled away, he obviously caught the crinkle in Ireland’s nose though, rolling his eyes in response.

               “It’s your dick, Ireland.”

               “Doesn’t mean I have to think it tastes good.”

               England sighed, “Why do I even bother?”

               “Excuse me for not liking the taste of dick.”

               “Poppet, _no one_ likes the taste of dick. We put up with the taste of dick because it feels good for our partner.”

               “So do plenty of other things that don’t require me to get my face near a guy’s dick.”

               “You’re the world’s biggest hypocrite.”

               “Bite me.”

               England’s eyes narrowed, leaning forward, pressing  their chests together, “Get me off and I might consider it.”

               Ireland rather abruptly reached down between them to grasp both of their dicks in his hand, making England gasp in surprise. Ireland was grateful in that moment for his long fingers, meaning he didn’t have to use both hands, which would have been… awkward. To say the least.

               England groaned out a chuckle, “That’s more like it,” Before reconnecting their lips, his own hand joining Ireland’s.

               They didn’t speak much more after that, much to Ireland’s delight. England was never this chatty. He was just glad England hadn’t brought the dick thing up again, because he couldn’t really tell but he was reasonably sure that England _was_ in fact bigger, and if England brought that fact up he would _have_ to punch him.

               Speaking of hard…

               Their hips were moving in time with the frantic movement of their hands, their breaths coming in sharp gasps puffed against each other’s lips, voices coming out in moans which were occasionally swallowed by each other, tongues twisting desperately between sounds.

               “Jesus fuck Ireland, would you _please_ go faster!”

               Ireland smiled, but didn’t change the speed his hand was stroking as he spoke, “Demanding little bitch, aren’t you?”

               Truth be told, Ireland wasn’t sure where he found the presence of mind to try dirty talk, but here it was, he supposed, and…

               “ _Ireland_!”

               …England, the thirsty little slut, didn’t seem to mind all that much either.

               “Bet this isn’t even enough for you, is it? Rutting up against me like a bitch in heat.”

               “ _Ireland…_ oh god…”

               “Come on then, c- ah! –come and show me how thirsty you are, you filthy  whore, you said it yourself. So eager to suck my dick and now look at you, moaning and begging and-“

               England cut him off with a fierce kiss and a long moan. In a moment, England came across his stomach, his hips stuttering, his eyes scrunched closed.

               “Such a pretty little whore~” Ireland cooed, his hand still moving even though England’s had stopped.

               England took the opportunity to kiss him quickly again then, “Fuck you, how’d you know I like dirty talk?”

               His hand started up again, and Ireland groaned, his eyes falling shut. “Call it a hunch.”

               “A hunch?”

               “A- Ah! _Cac_! -yeah, a hunch, considering your reputation.”

               England hummed at that, eyes flicking over Ireland languidly as his hand made similarly teasing languid movements. “My reputation _as_?”

               “You know that!” Ireland protested as England made a particularly nice flick of his wrist send a spark of pleasure directly into the knot in his belly, twisting it up almost too tight. Damn it, England coming had brought him close, but now England was actually concentrating, he- “ _Damnú air!_ ” –he knew what the fuck he was doing.

               It was barely 30 seconds before Ireland groaned loudly, curling into England as his orgasm rolled over him, his lips firmly attached to England’s collarbone.

               After a few moments of deep breaths he managed words. “Fuck. Shit. Jesus Christ.” Not very good words, he’d grant, but it was something at least.

               “Are you always this romantic and eloquent in the afterglow?”

               Ireland just shook his head, sucking once again on England’s adam’s apple, “Not usually, you’re just special.”

               England hummed, “I feel it.”

               They laid there for a moment catching their breath, unusually content to spend a while lying in each other’s arms.

               Well, that was until England _fucking ruined it_.

               “My dick _is_ bigger than yours.”

               “Well you know what-“

               Admittedly, it could have ended better.


End file.
